


Shatter

by Trash



Category: Linkin Park
Genre: M/M, Onesided Bennoda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 11:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3568244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trash/pseuds/Trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chester breaks his ankle and Mike's heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shatter

**Author's Note:**

> For Shinobi

A broken ankle. And at the hospital Chester is a grown adult who the doctors believe when he say "I tripped."

Mike sits at his bedside, ignoring Brad's glowering presence behind him. "What really happened?" He asks. 

"I told you. I tripped," Chester says, eyes fixed on Brad over Mike's shoulder. 

The X-rays come back quickly enough, but there's still plenty of sitting in uncomfortable waiting room chairs sipping vending machine coffee. Dave stabs holes in his empty polystyrene cup with a pen until Mike snatches it from him and puts it back on the reception desk. 

"Do you believe he tripped?"

Dave shrugs, poking his fingers through the holes in the cup until Mike snatches it from him. He heaves a sigh. "I dunno. That's what he said happened so..."

Mike goes to say something else but Dave gets up, stretching. "Just because you disapprove of their relationship doesn't mean Brad is beating Chester. Okay? Drop it."

Mike feels his face flush. He gets out of his seat and mumbles something about going to find a trash can just for something to do. 

*

Chester refuses to let them cancel the next show, and limps around like the team player that he is. Mike rolls his eyes when he comes into catering on his crutches. "You're grey."

"Harsh."

"You look like shit. Here. Let me. Chester you can't carry a tray and use your crutches, you dumb fuck. Go and sit down."

Mike sets a tray down in front of Chester who eats slowly. "Hurts," he says.

"Yeah."

"Foot bone not connected to the ankle bone. Get it?" He uncaps his soda and takes a drink. 

"How did you really break your ankle?" Mike asks. 

Chester's expression darkens briefly and he pushes away his tray. "My appetite is shot to shit," he says and gets up, balancing awkwardly until he gets his crutches under his arms. He looks at Mike like he wants to say something else but doesn't, hobbling away without another word. 

*

After his surgery they need to put on a cast, but there's an inbetween time where Chester shows his disgusting surgery wounds to anybody who visits. Brad glowers from the kitchen where he makes coffee with a cigarette hanging from his mouth whilst Rob gets up close and personal with Chester's stitches. 

"He insufferable?"

Brad snorts. "What do you think?"

Mike smirks. Glances at Brad. "You bummed out?"

"About the tour?"

"Yeah."

Brad shrugs. "Not so much."

Mike considers continuing trying to make conversation but this is just too awkward. He excused himself and takes a seat beside Chester on the couch. Brad doesn't look away. 

*

When Chester gets a cast on he lies face down on his bedroom floor and lets Mike sit cross legged behind him, marker poised. 

"Anything?" He asks. "Really?"

Chester tuts. "For the billionth time, yes. Anything you want. I mean. They told me not to draw on it. But the guy, he looked like my dad. And I can't remember the last time I did anything he told me to."

That's good enough for Mike. He knows that story, the one where Chester is ten and his dad's best friend thinks it's acceptable to fuck him. "Don't tell lies, Chester," his dad had said. The whole thing just makes his and Brad's relationship weirder. 

"You do what Brad tells you," he says, testing the water as he draws. 

Chester doesn't speak for a while. "I love Brad. It's different." His tone isn't one Mike can question, though he wants to. 

Mike draws until his hand cramps up and he stops to rub his wrist, massaging his hand. Chester glances over his shoulder at him. "Jerk off cramp?"

Mike swats at his ass. "You'd know all about that," he says, picking up the pen and carrying on. "Tell me you're happy."

"Where is this coming from?"

"I dunno," Mike shrugs. He really doesn't. "I just...need to know."

"He's plenty happy," Brad says from where he has appeared in the doorway. Mike doesn't turn to look at him, doesn't rise to it. "Do you think the doctor told you not to draw on it for shits and giggles?"

Chester sighs and presses his cheek to the floor. "Don't."

"You want to know if I broke his ankle. If I'm hitting him."

Mike turns and raises his eyebrows. "I'm...concerned."

"Brad, shut the fuck up. Mike, I think you should leave."

Brad smiles predatorily. "Do you want to know all the things he lets me do to him? That he doesn't let you do?"

"Brad. Really."

"I really don't give a shit," Mike says, evenly. "I really don't." He does.

"Mike," Chester says, rolling awkwardly onto his back. "Go home."

Chester's dismissal smarts, but Mike does as he is told. Brad follows him to the door. "Maybe you should stay away. Until the tour picks back up. Huh?"

"I'm...you're my best friend...so is Chaz. Why should I-"

"I know you're in love with him," Brad says, and it's like an arrow to the heart. 

"I don't know what you're talking about, man."

Brad laughs. "Don't give me that shit. He doesn't know, even though you're fucking obvious."

"Right. So. Even though you're in a happy relationship you're banning me from seeing him? What are you afraid of Brad?"

"Goodbye, Mike," Brad says, pushing Mike out into the porch and slamming the door.


End file.
